Shooter (Burnout) (11 page)

"Shit," she said suddenly. "Shit, I'm sorry." She immediately dropped down and grabbed the glass, which had not shattered but spilled the dregs and ice cubes on the freshly mowed lawn. Stupidly she started gathering the ice cubes and shoving them into the glass.

Chris got down to one knee beside her and put his hand on hers again. "It's fine, Slick."

She ignored his words, the hand on hers, and pretty much Chris Sullivan's entire presence at that moment.

"Slick, they're ice cubes. Let 'em go."

She finally stopped, took a deep breath and raised her head to face him. "I'm sorry. That was so inappropriate. I- I don't know why I did that. I'm so, so sorry."

He had a strange look on his face that she couldn't decipher. He didn't seem angry. Or forgiving. Or embarrassed. He seemed...confused. Which didn't make sense to her. He should have the decency to be angry since she was definitely embarrassed and him not being angry only seemed to make what she did that much worse, somehow.

Not cool. Not cool. Not cool, she told herself.

"It's okay, Hayley."

"It's not okay. I had no right." She shivered at the idea of someone doing that to her. Staring at her, pawing at her like she was in a petting zoo.

There was an uncomfortable silence which Chris finally broke. "It was an IED." She stared at him. "Improvised Explosive Device. Insurgents in Iraq lay them on roads to damage convoys. They're nearly impossible to spot. Especially in the dark. My unit was in the second vehicle on the road into Fallujah and the lead vehicle triggered an IED. All the men in the lead Hummer died. I took some shrapnel in the side. Jimmy, our youngest, he lost his lower right leg.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“Jimmy’s in the VA hospital up near Spearfish. He’s…having some adjustment problems. He’s got a basic prosthetic, but he won’t do his PT, sorry, his physical therapy, to get himself ready for a better one. His insurance is gonna stop paying soon, since he won’t do the therapy. Which also means he can’t stay in the facility. He’s from New Orleans, but he doesn’t get along too well with his folks and I don’t think they’re capable of handling him right now anyway. I think I’m gonna move him in with me, when they discharge him from the assisted living center. I told him on the last visit that it’s time to move on.”

Hayley frowned. “Move on,” she repeated. “Do you ever talk about it with him?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “No. We just- we try to focus on the positive, on the future. About him coming to work at the garage and getting a bike and-”

Hayley picked at a blade of grass with her free hand. “Maybe he doesn’t want to move on. I mean, people say that all time. Move on. And what they really mean is they want you to forget. So
they
can forget. But there’s no forgetting, Chris. You cover it up with your shirt, but he can’t do that. He can’t go one single minute without remembering what happened. When everyone around you wants to forget, you can get… isolated. You feel like you’re the only one holding on to something important.

“Maybe it hurts him that you pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe all he wants is for you to tell him that you won’t forget.” She stood up abruptly. “Anyway, maybe not. You know him and I don’t. I’m probably wrong. Thanks for mowing the lawn.” She turned and headed quickly up the stairs of the deck and into the house.

**************************

Chris was in the shower and running his hand along his torso, remembering Hayley’s face as she’d reached for him. It was not a look he was used to seeing. It was something like fascination, though without the usual morbidity that went along with it. When he'd first gotten home and word of what had happened had spread far and wide, some women stared at him once he got them alone and got undressed.

They stared and grimaced and tried to touch, but not in a kind way. Not like Hayley. More like he was a train wreck and they couldn't look away. Or they were gathering their courage to touch him. One had even asked him to put his shirt back on. He hadn't called that one again. Everyone knew and there was no point in hiding it and if they couldn't get over it then fuck them.

Hayley had apologized, too. For invading his personal space and presuming too much. He’d actually felt sorry for her because she was so upset with herself. No woman apologized for making him feel like an animal in a zoo. He hurried through the rest of his shower and got dressed. A few minutes later, he was already jogging up the steps of Hayley’s front porch. He knocked and Hayley cautiously answered. He grinned at her. “I’m headed to the store and I thought maybe you’d like to come. That way you can get as much as you need. We’ll take the truck.”

She blinked up at him. “The store?”

“The grocery store,” he said, as if this was obvious.

“Um. You don’t have to do that. I can-”

Chris sighed. “Hayley. When are you gonna stop busting my balls?”

She gaped at him. “I didn’t- I wasn’t...busting anything.”

“You busted my balls over the house. Then giving you a ride home. Then the lawn. Now the groceries. Seems like you hold a grudge for a long time, woman.”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “I brought you tea.”

“And now you’re back to busting my balls. Do you always run so hot and cold?”

“No! It’s…it’s 8:30 in the morning on a Sunday!”

“So you’re cold in the morning and you’ll be hot by noon? Good to know. Looking forward to it, Slick. Maybe I’ll come by for lunch and some of that sugar tea. Get your shoes on and let’s go. We’re burning daylight.” Hayley stared at him for an eternity, then she finally turned, picked up her keys and wallet from the kitchen counter and slipped on her canvas shoes.

In the store, she loaded her cart as Chris loaded his next to her. In the deli, she frowned at a sign scotch taped to the glass. “Are you really coming over for lunch?” she asked him suddenly.

He grinned at her. “Want me to?” he asked.

“No. I mean, I don’t care. It’s just that, roast beef is on sale by the pound. I really like roast beef, but I can’t eat a pound of it. But if you were coming over, I could buy that roast beef and it wouldn’t go to waste because you could probably eat a lot of roast beef.”

He pretended to consider this. “So what you’re saying is, you want roast beef so bad you’ll tolerate my company for lunch.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Chris made a show of checking his watch. “If you’re busy….” she said, trailing off.

“No, I’m not busy,” he informed her. “I was just looking to see how much more cold I’ve got to deal with.”

Hayley squeaked in protest, but he ignored her, instead catching the eye of the deli clerk. “Pound of roast beef, please.”

When the clerk handed the wrapped parcel to Chris, he chucked it into her cart. “Thanks, Slick. I’ll pick us up some chips.”

Walking up to the check out lanes, both Chris and Slick were flagged by a girl a little younger than them waving them over. “Hey girl!” the young woman called out, obviously recognizing Hayley.

Hayley smiled back. “Hey!” she replied, angling her cart toward the girl’s empty line and started filling up the conveyor belt. The girl glanced behind Hayley to Chris and gawked at him. He grinned back at her lazily.

“Girl,” the checkout girl stage-whispered. “Got a fine ass man waiting in line behind you. Check it out.”

Hayley fumbled her breakfast cereal. “He’s not…he’s just…”

“Who’s your friend, Slick?” Chris asked loudly, indicating he’d heard the woman.

The woman’s mouth dropped so far open she could catch flies. “You two are
together
?”

“No!” Hayley snapped, a little too quickly. “He’s just my neighbor. I mean, my landlord. We’re not-”

“Well, damn girl, thank God, because, not for nothing, but I was getting worried about you, hon.”

“Oh, God,” Hayley muttered and Chris enjoyed watching her ears turn pink.

“I mean, girl, we all know reading is fundamental, but you can’t just keep burying your nose in those cheap romance novels and expect-”

“Romance novels?” Chris interrupted.

“I don’t-” Hayley declared lamely. But it didn’t matter because the checkout girl steamrolled her anyway.

“Girlfriend here cleans us out every time. And it was cool at first, because, lord knows we all need a little fictional lovin’ from time to time, but there is no substitute for the real deal, girl,” she chastised Hayley, who pretended to be looking for the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre in her wallet.

“He’s not my…” Hayley spluttered. “He’s not my anything. He’s just my landlord.”

The girl tossed items haphazardly into plastic bags and shrugged. “Land lord, feudal lord, pirate king. Doesn’t matter.”

“Pirate king?” Chris clarified, interrupting once again.

The girl eyed him. “Well, maybe not
pirate king
. You don’t have the hair for it. Highlander either.”

Chris looked at Hayley. “How many of these books do you read, Slick?”

“
All
of them,” the check out girl answered. “Which is too many. Ain’t healthy living in her head like that.”

“I agree,” Chris said, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” Slick declared.

“So,” Chris said, leaning on his cart. “If I’m not a pirate king or a highlander, what kind of romance novel character am I?”

The checkout girl looked him up and down. “Definitely contemporary. Maybe a fireman or-”

“Army ranger?” Chris asked teasingly.

The girl picked up a sales flier and fanned herself. “Lord, girl you snagged yourself an Army man?”

“Landlord,” Slick repeated. “Land. Lord. No snagging.”

“We’re having lunch today,” Chris told the checkout girl. “She’s making roast beef sandwiches.”

“There was a sale,” Slick whined. “I like roast beef.”

The checkout girl shook her head. “Girl, you like
some
kind of beef, I’ll give you that. You take that man home and get some beef, okay?”

Slick slammed her wallet down on the counter. “He is my landlord! He’s not my boyfriend! Or my pirate king! Or a highlander missing his underwear! He is my Landlord!”

There was an embarrassing silence as everyone around them stopped to look. The checkout girl crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Well. That’s disappointing as hell.” Her hand snaked out around the register and she grabbed a candy bar off the shelf. She ran it through the scanner. “If you aren’t getting any of that, then you’re gonna need some of this,” she announced holding up the chocolate bar. Slick paid, grabbed the candy bar, and stomped out the automatic doors.

When Chris made it out to the parking lot, he saw she had chucked her bags into the truck’s bed and was sitting, angrily, yes the woman could
sit
angrily, he noted, in the cab. He tossed his own bags in the back and slid into the front seat. Before he cranked the engine he looked sideways at her. “Highlanders?”

“They don’t wear underwear,” she muttered.

“Yeah, I saw the movie.”

“I just want roast beef,” she declared. “And I want you to wear underwear.”

“I can handle both of those things, Slick. I promise.” She eyed him warily. “Of course, I’ll have to go home and put underwear on….”

She turned pink and looked away, but she was grinning.